Discernment
by every-holmes-for-every-watson
Summary: Sherlock wondered why his heart hurt so much. *Chapter two has now been added!*
1. Hurting

** Narratior's POV**

"But that's so _BORING_, John!"

"_BORING_!?" bellowed John. "For Christ's sake, Sherlock, her husband just killed himself! Have you no-"

"Sympathy? By all means John, it's all useless."

"Useless?" he chuckled, his blood spicing up with anger, "feelings are what makes us human, Sherlock."

"I don't want to be human. You out of everyone should know that."

John, growing angrier by the second, pressed his calloused finger tips to his temples, breathing slowly. Sherlock, sitting in his usual chair, leaving forward and glided his fingers to linger upon his smooth lips. The flat was drowned over with uncomfortable silence, causing Sherlock to squirm from the discomfort.

"You...why can't you get it, Sherlock?" John's gravely voice dripping with a need for understanding. "It's rather funny."

"And what do you find so funny, John? Please, I would really love to know." Sherlock huffed/

"It's funny because," John's voice kept quiet, as if he was scared Sherlock would run, "-the great Sherlock Holmes can't see how much he himself has been killing his best friend."

Sherlock's eyes smashed to john's. It's as if Sherlock was trying to say something that (to him) didn't need to be said, and yet John couldn't figure it out.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Sherlock said, "It's about that day, isn't it." It wasn't a question, because Sherlock knows. He always knows.

"And what if I say it is? Hmm?" John bit back, pushing Sherlock's patience out the window.

"I don't see why this has to upset you so much!"

"Really?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn't have said it."

"I care for you, Sherlock. More than I do for myself." He let out a heavy chuckle. "Watching you fall destroyed me. And when you came back, it hurt me even more."

"John-"

"Their were so many things I wanted to say, but was left unsaid. So many things I wanted to do, that was left undone. I still cry, all by myself, because this grief still haunts me."

"But, I'm here, John!" Sherlock reasoned. "You can say what you want to say, do what you wanted to do! Why can't you understand!?"

"Sherlock, you're the one who doesn't understand. Like you said, you feel no sympathy, you don't _feel._ Well, I say that's bullshit."

"You clearly don't know me then, John."

"Oh, you see, that's another lie topped with another. I know you, Sherlock, more than anyone ever has. You know that. But, with these types of cases, you NEED to be sympathetic towards people."

"So, you want me to pretend?"

"Yes, Sherlock. At least act like you care for people."

Sherlock took a step back, taking a few deep breaths. "I care about you. You're different."

John laughed, waving his hand as if he was dismissing a thought. "Why can't you just tell me why you did it?"

"I already did."

"Why did...did you make me wait three years to see you again?"

Sherlock studied John's face with an alarming focus. He noticed that John's hands were shaking, and his eyes turned glossy.

"Don't give me 'to protect me' crap. You could've sent me l-like a letter or something. Just to let me know you were okay. So many things I..."

John broke eye contact and stared at the floor. A minute of silence dragged by. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but John broke him off.

"But, why would you care?"

"John? You're my-"

"No. You use me for your cases, run off to catch the criminals, and resume your bloody experiments."

"You're wrong!" Sherlock yelled. "You're so wrong, John! Why are we arguing about this now!?"

"Because I've never gotten over it!" John bellowed. "And, to be honest, I don't think I ever will!"

"It was to protect you all! If they didn't see me jump, they would have killed you all! I couldn't risk it, John, understand that!"

"I do, Sherlock, I do. But, why...why did you have Molly help you, and not me? I know I'm not the best person you've met..but I figured I meant something to you."

Sherlock took a step towards his blogger. John, snapping his eyes back to Sherlock's, took another step back.

"Do you like her? Is that it? You guys would make a lovely couple after all, no doubt."

"Listen, John-"

"It's quite hilarious, Sherlock. How I feel, inside me? It bugs me, and makes me utterly confused. When Molly looks at you, and devours you with her eyes, I feel a sense of protectedness over me. When I look at you, Jesus, Sherlock your beauty smashes the air out of my lungs. Yes, I sound like I'm reading some shitty romantic book, but I'm stating the truth. I thought about this," he waved towards him and Sherlock, "-about what I'm feeling and why I'm feeling it, and I know why. It's you. Sherlock bloody Holmes. The way you walk, talk, solve crimes, all the small things that makes you, well, _you._ You say you're incapable of feelings. I sure am hell am not. I know how I feel, and...and..."

John's eyes widened, and he put his hand on the desk to gain more balance.

"John? What is it? Are you feeling ill?" he asked, watching curiously.

John let out a wild laugh, making Sherlock jump back.

"I can't believe I didn't see this." Sherlock opened his mouth, and John rose his voice. "And no, it's not because I'm an idiot. I was just blind with the truth right in front of me." he took a deep breath. "I love you."

Many thoughts raced through Sherlock's head. He had the urge to walk to John, tilt his chin up, and let his defensive side down. To let John see how broken and sad he is too. The urge was so strong, it felt as if it flowed in his blood, and the action kept replaying in his head. Could Sherlock risk his almighty reputation to John, just because of _feelings? _No, he decided. He could not. Sherlock's mind raced through every memory he has of him and John, and it started to burn into the tip of his skull. This dull pain in his heart throbbed, and begged for it to be healed. _John. _His special blogger. Every crime he went to, John was by his side. John never questioned him, John never lost faith in him, _John was always there. _Everyone he knew in his childhood left him alone to his pity feelings. It hurts, yes, but after a while, he got used to it. He decided that sentiment was a stupid love story, and he didn't need it. He believed he was smart enough to never dive himself into those sort of things. Then, alas, he met John. _John Hamish Watson. _Needless to say, John turned everything around. Sherlock knew he felt something when they met, not a doubt. He just ignored it, he believed it would fade away. But, it got stronger. He felt the truth's hands caress his face, and knew. He just knew. Every little puzzle piece fit right together.

Sherlock took a few steps back, until he hit the wall. He breathed heavily, and closed his eyes. He couldn't see John. Not with what he knew. He can't risk his reputation to things like this. John..John would understand, right? No. John has an amazing level of sentiment. He needs to lie.

"I don't need protecting. I'm a full grown man." _I'm sorry, John. _

"Right. Should have thought about that." _I love you, please love me too. Sherlock._

"Don't rely on your feelings. It only brings you pain."

"Like you would know." John said, his tone angry.

"You're right, I wouldn't know." _Why can't you see?_

"I love you. And, it tingles when it slips out my mouth. But in a good way. As if I wouldn't want to stop saying it."

"John."

"I know you don't feel the same-"

"Can't you just stop!? I don't love you John!" _Just lie. _"I can't comprehend stupid, _pity _feelings that humans crave! That's not me!" _No sentiment._

John walked over to Sherlock in an angry stride.

"I don't believe you." Those words were as if it had a sticky poison to it, and Sherlock shuddered.

"I don't want you. Any of you." _I'm lying, I'm just scared. _

John's eyes watered, and all Sherlock wanted to go was wipe them away. Tears traveled down his face, and dripped off of his jaw. Sherlock could practically feel his heart crack, and fill with uncomfortable grief.

Unable to hold himself back, Sherlock reached out his hand just to wipe away a tear, before John jumped back and whispered, "Don't."

"Don't...don't act like you're sorry, Sherlock. You don't feel anything, remember?"

By this time, tears were rapidly falling down the tip of John's jaw. He was sobbing, and all Sherlock could think was, '_I did that.' _

"This is really out of my character, you know?" he sniffed, "I'm used to this. You would see how wacky and 'boring' the women I saw actually saw was. I should just move on from this, but I can't. God help me, I can't."

"What are you saying?"

"That I want you to love me. But, I can't force you to. And I won't. That's not who I am."

John stood a little straighter now, fixed up his shirt, and looked Sherlock deep in the eys.

"W-what are you going to do?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The room grew quiet. Their eye contact remained fierce, and yet scared, for the next words that can fall out of John's mouth could change things forever.

"I'm going on a walk."

Sherlock left out a breath he'd realized he was holding in.

"How long?" Sherlock asked. _When has his throat so unbearably dry? _

"Dunno." John answered, his body still shaking.

"Wait."

John stopped his journey to the door, turned around and gave Sherlock a warmhearted smile.

"What is it, you bloody git?"

They both shared a smile reserved only for the two of them.

Sherlock wondered why his heart hurt so much.


	2. Truth

** Narrator's POV**

It was around midnight when John came back to the flat. Sherlock could hear his heavy footsteps, and for a second he was scared that John had gotten himself drunk. John opened the door slowly, and let out a huff when he saw Sherlock on the couch.

"This doesn't surprise me."

"It's been awhile since you went on your walk. Did you go to the-"

"Deduct that, Sherlock. You know I wasn't. I called Greg, he picked me up, and we had a private, yet very friendly conversation at his house."

"Well," Sherlock squirmed a bit, "-did you have a good time?"

"Look," John said, skipping his question, "just forget everything we said, alright? We can pretend it never happened. It's better that way, isn't it?"

His eyes raised itself to Sherlock's, and Sherlock began to feel bile to meet his tongue. John's eyes _drained _from their color. His face was pale, and he hunched himself more forward. John wasn't _John_. And that guilt felt as if Sherlock destroyed the only person who made him feel worthy.

"What if I can't forget?" Sherlock whispered.

John broke their gaze, and headed towards the stairs. Going on the second step, Sherlock heard him freeze.

"Then I'll get out of your hair, and move out. When you give me the word, I'll leave you, and you'll never hear from me again. It'll be as if you've never known me. I won't burden you with my feelings anymore. After all, you were the one who said that sentiment was a chemical defect found on the loosing side. Well, here I am losing. You won, and I'll shut up about it now."

Sherlock opened and shut his mouth as if he was a dying fish. His hands clenched together, and took short breaths. John stood at the stairs, waiting for any kind of response. When he didn't receive one, he shuffled up the stairs with a tired 'goodnight'.

Once he heard John's door shut, he jumped off the couch, and paced. Should he leave this alone? He loves John, much to his dismay, but he cannot deny it anymore. He cannot fathom life without his very special blogger in it. They could go on as normal flatmates, but his _feelings _would still be cooking inside of him, and John's would be boiling. What if Sherlock admitted to John how he felt? Would John even believe him? Sherlock did say he wanted no part of him in a romantic sense. He was just so scared that he wouldn't suffice for John, and he be left alone with his broken senses.

His heart started leaping in his throat. What if John _did _take Sherlock? "Dammit," he muttered, "I'm thinking like a damn 12 year old."

The thought wouldn't leave his head. He didn't expect it to.

"Enough!" he said.

He needed to fix this. He would simply tell John that he's sorry, and everything would be fine. It had to be.

Giving himself a positive nod, he quickly made his journey up to the stairs, and to John's room.

John laid in his bed, and covered his whole body with his blankets. his body was still shaking, and he put his fist in his mouth to cover up more sobs. How could he be so stupid? Sherlock couldn't feel anything (at least he said so) and that felt like someone stabbed him multiple times in the chest. He heard thumps down the stairs, and snickered to himself.

"Probably pacing around like he usually does." John said.

But then, John had a thought. Sherlock must be thinking about something that's troubling him for him to be pacing around that much. His breathing stopped as a horrifying thought popped into his head.

_What if Sherlock wants him to leave? _

He felt a painful tug on his heart. The pacing has stopped by now, now the flat filled with John's terrifying thoughts.

"Christ," he thought, "can I even live like this?"

Sherlock arrived at John's door. his body felt hot, and he felt as if he would puke. And to be truthful, he was terrified. Should he knock? What if he does, and John's asleep? He took a few moments to think on what to do. Finally, with a decision, he slowly opened John's door.

"John?" he whispered, while walking in the room.

John's breathing imeediatly went ragged, and his body tensed within the blankets.

_Alright, he's awake. _

"I know you're awake. Your breathing is ragged, and you've got the blankets wrapped around you to tight."

He heard John give a sign, and sit up to the edge of the bed.

"What d'ya need?"

Sherlock felt a lump in his throat, and felt exposed down to his inner core.

John eyes Sherlock mysteriously, wondering why the hell he was in his room.

"I wanted us to talk." Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

'_Oh god,' _John thought. '_He wants me to leave.'_

"No, John, I don't want you to leave."

"How did- ah, nevermind. Can this wait until morning? I'm awfully tired-"

"No. And, I know you didn't even sleep yet. Your thoughts have been keeping you awake."

He opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"Please don't ask me how I know. It's bloody obvious."

"Well," John sighed, "-in that case, what did you want to talk about?"

"This. Us. What's happening."

"Ah, that. I already told you that we can forget about it."

"And I already told you that I don't want to." Sherlock took a moment to collect his thoughts, and continued. "I lied to you. I..."

He saw John's face fall into an even greater depression. "_Jesus, no." Sherlock thought, "He thinks that I don't want anything to do with him." _

"I know how you feel. I don't like how this is affecting me."

"Affecting you how?" John said, raising an eyebrow.

"You must understand, this is very hard for me to say."

He saw John trying to deduct him, and it was driving him _mad. _

"I won't judge you. Just breathe." John soothed.

Taking his advice, he took a deep breath and started again.

"This feeling is distracting me, John, and it's upsetting. When...when you're in the room, my lungs loses the capacity to carry air, which-"

"You lose your breath when I'm in the room? Is that what you're trying to say?" John interrupted, whispering.

"If that is how you people say it, then yes. When you're with me at a crime, it makes me feel somatic sensations scampering throughout my stomach-"

"Butterflies?"

"-because you're right next to me. And, John, please don't interrupt me. This is quite difficult."

"R-Right. Sorry."

"I know how much you hate yourself, sometimes. You look sad when you think nobody can see you." _'Thanks, Molly.' _"You hide it from me. Well, try to. You wear a mask that portrays happiness, and joy. When, really, you feel depressed to your inner core."

john shifted, and tilted his head towards the ground. Sherlock didn't even realize when he caressed John's face, bringing his gaze back up to meet his.

"You, John Watson, are more than I deserve. You say I cannot feel-"

"Sher-Sherlock, I was in the moment, and-"

He rose his eyebrow at John, wondering when he could continue.

"Right. Go ahead."

"As I was saying, I _cannot feel. _But you? You're something new. A good new. I am glad I met you, John. You're my special blogger. I'd be bloody lost without you. I...I..." he froze. His eyes melted into a pool with John's, and John ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls, giving him confidence.

"John Hamish Watson, I love you."

Silence flooded the room. John kept his intense eye contact with Sherlock, looking for any sign of betrayal.

"You're..." he croaked. He coughed, and started again. "You're telling the truth."

"Of course. I wouldn't life to you about that, John."

John rubbed his fingertips against Sherlock's scalp, which resulted in Sherlock giving a content sign, and closing his eyes. John's eyes found their way to stare at Sherlock's perfectly formed lips.

"_God, just kissing those lips..." _he thought.

It's quite a sin, looking the way he does. John knew it. His cheekbones so built, his eyes, Jesus, they're so bright and vibrant. It warmed his heart.

Sherlock's hands roamed to John's back, squeezing his skin.

"May I ask you a favor, John?" Sherlock's breath dance over to John's ear.

"Anything." John whispered back, just as quiet.

"Kiss me."

John tightened his grip on Sherlock's curls.

"A-Are you sure you want this?" he whispered. "Because we can't go back from this."

"I've never wanted anyone, John. And it scares me."

"Hey." John tipped Sherlock's head to meet his. "I'm scared too. This is all new for me. But, all I want is you. God help me, Sherlock. I want you. I care for you with an undying passion. I care for you, _more than I for myself._ I would gladly sacrifice my life for you to live. When you're sad, I'll try everything I can to make you happy. If there is any moment when you don't feel loved, I will do _EVERYTHING _in my power to let you know how much I love you."

"I love you so much, that it simply terrifies me."

"We'll get through this." John hummed. "Together."

John's hands left his curls, and his arms wrapped around his long neck. Sherlock stood up, bringing John up with him, and pressed his forehead against John's. No words needed to be said, they already knew what they wanted it, and how bad they wanted it at that moment. John's thumbs now rubbed across Sherlock's cheekbones, and flashed Sherlock a content smile.

"C'mere." was all Sherlock heard before John carefully put his lips on his.

By all means, Sherlock found it to be _fantastic. _Their kisses glided like water, and oil, and Sherlock could _not get enough. _A light feeling grew into his stomach, and he wrapped his arms around John's waist, pushing him closer for body heat. The desire grew fierce, and strong, but neither wanted things to go that far. They were both content, giving each other lazy kisses, and smiling against one another. When John carefully slipped his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, he released a breathy moan, and tightened his grip on John. John explored Sherlock's mouth, making sure not to leave one area untouched. Sherlock felt lightheaded from the lack of breathing, but he didn't care. If someone killed him, at this very moment, he would die _happy. Absolutely happy. _

John pulled away with an audible 'pop', and smiled at Sherlock.

"I feel like I'm in a really cheesy moment-"

"In a ridiculously stupid romance movie."

They both chuckled, and their love grew into something that they would never understand. But, somehow, someway, they were both okay with that.

All was well.


End file.
